Like the burning sensation of Firewiskey
by Soofija
Summary: HGSB Oneshot. Sirius is back from the veil and determined to save Hermione from her own undoing after the war. DHspoiler


**Author's Notes: **New story from me, yay! Once again it's written in the middle of the night, but I seem to be at my best then ;-) DH-spoiler, don't read if you haven't read the book. And remember, reviews are love.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own it, unfortunately, JK Rowling does. I'm just using her characters for my own twisted ideas.

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She smiles during the day. She can't do anything but; everyone unconsciously depends on her to carry them, their burden on her shoulders, to keep them going. And she does, without asking 'why me?'.

She stops smiling when the sun sets and darkness falls once again. When she closes her bedroom door and leans against it, she also closes her eyes and let the act rest. She remembers everything she forces herself to forget during the day and the smile disappears. But she does not cry. She's afraid that if she did, she wouldn't be able to stop. And she needs to keep everything, including herself, together as much fort herself as for everyone else.

_He watches her, and waits. Knows that someday__ soon she will have to break, hopes that he will be there to catch her. He knows that nobody else sees her pain, her lost look, the crack in her façade every now and then. He admires the Gryffindor bravery inside her that keeps her pretending. But he also knows that it's not for her. It's for everyone else._

_He feels guilty for caring more about her well-being than his godson's. But since the war ended, Harry has become almost unreachable, talking only to Ginny and Hermione. So he figures that since she carries the weight of his godson's worries, he might as well carry her in return._

She keeps her secret stash of Firewhiskey in her room. The burning sensation of the liquor running down her throat is so much easier to deal with, so much more real, than the suffocating feeling in her chest that grows stronger with each passing day.

_Somehow, the death of Moony does not affect him as it ought to. Perhaps the years in Azkaban, or those spent trapped in Limbo have made him…numb. Or perhaps he finds comfort in knowing that Remus died beside the woman he loves. He, of all people, knows what a comfort love can be._

_**He comes to her late one night, when heavy raindrops are hammering against the windows and on the roof above their heads, and thunder is rolling. She is sitting on her bed, turning a glass of whiskey in her hands as if trying to divine her future from within the amber liquid, even though she does not believe in that kind of nonsense.**_

She should react at the sight of him standing in her doorway in the middle of the night, wearing nothing but a pair of worn pyjama bottoms. She should wonder what he's doing there. And she should be embarrassed because she doesn't care. But it's late. The sun has set, the door has been closed, the smile has faded. She is numb.

_He stand in her doorway, the door is closed behind __his back as if marking the point of no return. He hesitates. Now that he's here he's unsure of what to do._

"_I've been watching you," he says, taking a step closer. She doesn't move, doesn't show with even a blink of her eye that she knows he's there._

"_You don't need to do this," he continues when she doesn't react. "You fought in that war and lost loved ones too. You have the right too grieve too. No-one asked you to ignore your feelings and take care of everyone else's."_

_Finally, she looks at him, the emptiness in her eyes scaring him._

"_Who would if I didn't?"_

"I would," he says. And suddenly he's kneeling in front of her on the bed, tightly gripping her shoulders and forcing his lips on hers. It's not a kiss, it's lips against lips and she complies, letting his tongue invade her mouth because this is raw and unshielded emotion, as real and easy to handle as the burning sensation of Firewhiskey.

_**It's not gentle. It's not love. It's sex. Pure fucking. It's hard and fast and raw and they **__**gasp for breath, moan in ecstasy and cry out in pain. She grips his shoulders with her nails and, with her heal on his ass, tries to force him deeper inside her. He's sure he's going to break her, expecting more with every forward thrust to hear her beg him to stop. But she doesn't say a word, doesn't utter one syllable as he drives into her. Instead she welcomes the pain.**_

_**And finally, when they both reach the peak with him spilling into her and her shuddering around him, she breaks. He's still inside her, they're still naked, they're lying on top of the covers and the glass of Firewhiskey has fallen and the liquid is staining the sheets but it doesn't matter. The sun has set, the door is closed, the smile has faded, but she's no longer numb. And for the first time in a very long time, she's glad she can still feel.****

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**_**Author's Notes: **Please, please review, it's love! 


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